


Losing Sight of the Shore

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after the end of 4x09, “Lancelot du Lac.” Merlin wasn’t the only one to return Lancelot to the lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Sight of the Shore

Percival crouched in the bracken near the edge of the water, his limbs like ice as he watched Merlin place Lancelot on the raft he’d constructed. Following had been simple. The cart in which Merlin pulled Lancelot’s dead body had crunched over the undergrowth, masking Percival’s steps, and then Merlin had been too wrapped up in the business of the raft to notice he had an audience. He’d scrubbed at his face more than once while he bound the reeds together. Percival’s eyes burned with the same grief.

At least until he saw Merlin bend and rest his long hand over Lancelot’s brow. His face was hidden, but his voice carried in the soft air, words unknown prickling along Percival’s skin like the edge of a dull blade. The same blade sank into his chest when he saw Lancelot—the friend he’d endured dying twice even knowing this second couldn’t possibly be him—gasp for breath and open his eyes.

He felt the turn of Lancelot’s head as he looked up at Merlin.

He heard the whisper of Merlin’s name, the gratitude that came so heartfelt immediately afterward.

He saw Lancelot deflate again, settling into the raft as whatever life Merlin had given to him escaped through that last, long exhalation.

The world was a wash as Merlin pushed Lancelot out onto the lake, grief and disbelief overwhelming whatever resolve Percival might’ve had to be strong. He’d wanted answers, not additional questions, not betrayal of the worst order, exacerbated even more when the raft burst spontaneously into flame atop the water— _impossible, impossible_. 

Except he knew it was, because that was the only explanation— _magic_ —the only justification he could muster in the bleak light of the events from the past couple days.

And at the center of it was Merlin.

Merlin, who had been Lancelot’s friend, too. 

Merlin, who had insisted Lancelot take his bed when quarters had been available with the rest of the knights, who Lancelot hadn’t even argued with when Arthur and the rest tried to persuade him he’d be more comfortable elsewhere.

Merlin, who even now stood at the edge of the shore, unbothered by the pyre burning at the lake’s center.

Rage took over. Though his legs screamed in protest at such a quick unfolding, Percival charged Merlin’s position, fists in Merlin’s jacket before either of them could consider what he was doing.

“What did you do to him?” Percival roared. A wide-eyed Merlin—crying, he’d been crying, his cheeks were still streaked from them—scrambled to pull Percival off, but his futile scratches at Percival’s hands only fueled the frustration. He shook Merlin like a ragdoll and lifted him away from the ground to bring their faces nose to nose. “I saw you, Merlin. I heard him talk to you. It was you, wasn’t it? All of this, it was you, your, your…” He couldn’t even say the word. He’d been thinking it for hours, it was the only explanation possible, but he still couldn’t say it. “He loved you. Arthur loves you. Why would you do this to them?”

“I didn’t—”

“I saw you!”

But then he was seeing more, like a glow in Merlin’s eyes. His grip tightened automatically, but as his nails dug into his palms even through the thin fabric of Merlin’s coat, something tight and hot began crawling up to his wrists.

The next moment, power tore his hands away. He flew back, thrown by an unseen strength, and landed painfully against the base of a thick tree. Merlin crumpled to the ground, but the way he caught himself on his fists and knees made it obvious he wasn’t as surprised by the separation as Percival was.

“It wasn’t me,” Merlin said. 

His body ached from the jolt of his landing. The best Percival could manage was straightening against the trunk. “Don’t lie. I’ve got eyes and ears. I know what you did.”

Merlin’s head shook back and forth, as if he needed to clear it, but as he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, choked and thick. “What you saw…that was me trying to set Lancelot free. I didn’t…I had no way of knowing it would work.”

“So you knew something was wrong.”

A brief nod. “But it wasn’t me. You have to believe that.”

He didn’t know what to believe. The ache of not knowing what was going on had carved a hole in his gut when he’d realized this wasn’t their Lancelot. Now, that hole was widening into a pit.

“Then who?”

With a deep breath, Merlin sat back on the shore, wiping the loose grit from his palms. “I think it was Morgana.”

Mere mention of her name made the events of the past couple days clearer, like he should’ve suspected her from the start when he wondered what was going on with Lancelot. But he’d been so wrapped up in the shock of the suicide, and Gwen’s banishment, and Arthur’s hurt anger, he hadn’t thought beyond the immediate. 

“How did you know?” he asked. It had been driving him mad, wondering why the others hadn’t seen it, worrying he was creating a problem when there was none. The weight of knowledge he couldn’t share had kept him from sleeping, from eating, from time spent with his friends. He didn’t like being separate. He never had. “Was it…” But he still couldn’t say the word. He could only gesture helplessly at Merlin.

“Eventually,” Merlin conceded. “I wanted it to be him so badly. But…he didn’t know things he should have. Private things. My magic…” His wistful sigh did little to banish the melancholy mood, though Percival hardly expected otherwise. “What about you?”

Percival shook his head. “Lancelot would never have hurt Arthur or Guinevere like that. Not for anything. As soon as I heard what happened, I knew it couldn’t be him.” 

When he caught Merlin rubbing at his chest, right where Percival’s fists had pressed into the lean muscle, his cheeks filled with heat. The last time he’d manhandled Merlin had been out of his control, but Merlin had forgiven all of them for their ignoble behavior with a dismissive wave of his hand. It wasn’t their fault, he’d said, but this was. Percival had overreacted when he hadn’t known the whole story. He should have trusted Merlin not to turn against his friends like that.

Rather than offer an apology he knew Merlin would shrug away, he rose and returned to his side, treading slowly to show he was no longer a threat. He crouched down, but when he reached for the front of Merlin’s jacket, Merlin jerked away.

“I just want to make sure I didn’t hurt you,” Percival said. Merlin watched him without moving, eyes wet and bloodshot from his residual tears. He probably shouldn’t have expected more. He _had_ practically throttled him in the midst of saying goodbye to their friend. He plopped back to sit on the edge of the damp ground. “Everything about this has had me running in circles. Forgive me.”

Merlin scrubbed at his face and shifted so they sat side by side, gazing out over the water. “Nothing’s been right. Arthur barely speaks to anyone except to yell. Everyone’s afraid to say Gwen’s name. I can hardly judge you for the same.”

He could, but the fact that he didn’t was further testimony to the kind of man Merlin really was. Loyal to a fault, always there with a smile…a few minutes ago, Percival would’ve added honest to the list, too, but the truth about his magic rather thwarted that.

“I guess Arthur doesn’t know,” he said, already confident on the answer.

“About the magic?” Merlin shook his head, then glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you going to tell him?”

“So he won’t have any choice but to banish you, as well? I don’t think so. Arthur’s lost too much as it is. I’m not adding you to the list.”

“But you’re not afraid of it.”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid of it. A sword doesn’t work against magic, and I’ve seen it used for evil too many times.” He felt Merlin withdrawing, pulling back behind the polite walls he erected when circumstances demanded it. He hastened to add, “But I’m not afraid of you, Merlin. I know I behaved badly when I saw you and Lancelot, but that was my grief acting out, not good sense. You’ve dedicated your life to the people you care about. Any fool could see that. If you meant harm with your magic, I don’t believe you would be here today.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth tipped into the beginning of a wry smile. “Now if only I could convince Arthur of that.”

“You haven’t tried, have you?”

“Not directly. And with what Morgana’s done…”

He had no need to finish the sentence. They both understood the damage she’d wrought, to Camelot and to Arthur.

“I think what I hate most is that the one thing Lancelot valued more than anything else has been compromised now,” Percival said softly. “People will remember this, not the sacrifice he made to save Camelot.”

“We have to help them remember.”

“When we can’t even say his name?”

“It won’t always be like this.”

Percival’s smile came unbidden. “You have such faith in the future.”

Merlin shrugged, but Percival caught the smile he’d been fighting growing stronger. “I just have to believe good will prevail. Don’t you?”

“Sometimes.” 

His confession surprised both of them, Percival especially since masking his occasional despair about their odds in defeating Morgana was so ingrained, not even astute Elyan who seemed to notice everything had caught onto it. He wore the smile and the good nature like a second skin, a habit that had started when he first learned people could be intimidated by his size. Before today, he would never have let his guard down around Merlin, especially after what happened with Lamia, but perhaps, with the secrets they shared now between them, such caution wasn’t necessary. Exposure wasn’t necessarily weakness.

Merlin angled away from the water, his contemplative regard now on Percival rather than the still burning pyre. “You’ve never hesitated.”

 _To fight_ went unsaid. “I’d wager neither have you.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you know why I don’t.” The flicker of the flames across the lake singed away more of his reservations, but the reminder brought back the ache that had laid upon his soul ever since discovering the truth. “Not that it will help Lancelot now.”

“Or Gwen,” Merlin said with a sigh. “What she did…it’s so unlike her. But there’s no way Morgana could’ve done something to her. Gwen would never have allowed her to get that close.”

Though Percival agreed, the way Merlin said it sparked his thoughts into a new direction. “Guinevere would have had to trust the person,” he said carefully. “Like…Lancelot.”

Merlin frowned. “Lancelot didn’t have magic.”

“No, but…” Reaching into his pocket, Percival pulled out the small leather sack he’d carried close to his body ever since the scandal had broken. Its absence against his thigh was a relief. He loathed its innocuous contents, too symbolic of everything that had gone wrong since Lancelot’s return. “I saw Guinevere leaving the castle after Arthur banished her. There was a bracelet she’d been wearing, but when Arthur sent her away, she wasn’t. So I went down to the dungeons and found it in the dust there.”

When Merlin tipped it out, his jaw hardened even before the bracelet touched his skin. “It’s enchanted.”

As glad as he was his faith in Guinevere had never been misguided, Percival found little joy in Merlin’s revelation. “We can’t show it to Arthur, can we?” It would solve so much, perhaps even allow Arthur to pursue the truth about Lancelot. But as ideal an opportunity it was, theirs was not an ideal world.

“It would raise too many questions.” He hated the sadness in Merlin’s voice. How long had he been forced to live this lie with Arthur? He’d been a manservant for years. “We might be able to salvage Lancelot’s honor, but not without besmirching Gwen’s even more, and that’s the last thing our Lancelot would have wanted.”

“But Guinevere was enchanted as well,” he argued. “She can’t be held responsible for what happened.”

“She can if we can’t explain how it came to happen in the first place. She’s been accused of magic before. If it happens often enough, sooner or later people will start wondering, even if it’s unwarranted.”

Though he wanted to trust the residents of Camelot—Arthur—wouldn’t be foolish enough to believe such nonsense, he’d seen enough hysteria strike otherwise reasonably sane people to know better. Asking questions was inevitable. How had Merlin escaped such notice? He wanted to ask, so many things, and he thought, if he did, Merlin would likely answer, but later, when the truth about Lancelot and Gwen wasn’t so raw, and they had time not to treat it like the gift it obviously was.

“So we do nothing.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it bled through anyway. “That’s your solution.”

“No.” Merlin leaned forward, his face inches from Percival, eyes large and luminous in the fading sun. A flicker of unnatural light deep in their depths tightened Percival’s throat a split second before he forced himself to swallow against it. Merlin trusted him to understand, to believe in him. Percival wouldn’t let him down. Not like he had Lancelot. “If we do nothing, Morgana wins.”

“Then what?”

“We work together. We do what Arthur can’t, what he shouldn’t have to, because in spite of everything she’s done, to him, to Camelot…he still loves her. Deep down, he still wants to believe in her.” The sad smile returned, bearing with it a hint of pride. “That’s his greatest strength as king.”

As true as it was… “It’s also his greatest weakness.”

Merlin nodded, but didn’t withdraw completely, shifting instead to watch the boat burn. Understanding bound them together in silence, for Arthur, for their fallen friend, for the secrets they knew they had to keep. When the sun disappeared completely beneath the distant rise of trees, Percival threw an arm around Merlin’s shivering shoulders, unsurprised and a little pleased when Merlin burrowed closer to share what little heat he had remaining. Neither was willing to abandon their vigil. Percival wasn’t ready to abandon Merlin.

In the morning, when the unbroken surface of the lake glittered from the dawn, Percival woke curled up on his side with Merlin at his back. Merlin’s arm curled protectively around Percival’s chest, and at some point in the night, he’d buried his nose in Percival’s nape, his warm, slow breaths tickling beneath his shirt.

This was the gift Lancelot had always recognized in Merlin, the gift Arthur probably didn’t even realize he had. 

The gift Percival now had the privilege of sharing.

One day, Arthur would learn the truth, but until that day came, Percival would protect Merlin’s secret as his own. 

Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts drift back to sleep. Camelot would be waiting for them, no matter when they returned. A new battle would be fought, or, in Merlin’s case, an old one. To defeat Morgana and find a way to clear Lancelot and Guinevere’s names. To stand side by side, brothers in arms, even when he had no way to wield Merlin’s weapons.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope joined him in his dreams. He’d just never known it had blue eyes and a heart the size of Camelot.


End file.
